Twisted Cinders
by ZZ9PluralZAlpha
Summary: Cinderella fics are two a penny, but what if things don't go as you might expect? And, more to the point, what does the Fairy Godmother get out of it? Troyella, rating just in case.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own High School Musical, any of the characters, or any of their songs. I'm not even entirely certain about this storyline... especially as this is my own version of the HSM Cinderella story. Hopefully a couple of bits are original.

The words at the beginning are from 'You are the Music in Me', HSM2. As stated above, I don't own it.

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Twisted Cinders

Chapter One: Rags and Riches

"_You know the words 'Once Upon a Time'_

_Make you listen?_

_There's a reason."_

Footsteps. Footsteps, echoing along the hard, unforgiving surfaces outside the barred steel door. He rolled over, his hands clutched to his screaming head in an effort to keep the echoing, 'click-clack' of those shoes from his mind, but on they came, relentless, as steady as a pendulum, as inexorable as fate and as penetrating as a pneumatic drill. High heels didn't begin to describe it…

The noise was approaching his cell, but whoever it was wouldn't stop. He didn't see anyone, never would, there was just him, only him, and this hard little room with bars in the door and the click and the clack and the click-clack-

"Troy!"

Troy jumped awake so fast he smacked his head on the low beam above his pillow. The impact startled him so much that his legs jerked, stubbing his toes on the wall at the end of the bed, as both the wall and the bed were shorter than he was. He groaned quietly, massaging both injured areas gently. He would have been grateful to be woken from such a hideous dream, if it wasn't for the identity of the person waking him.

"Troy Bolton, get your sorry ass down here now!"

Troy cringed, his head still thumping, before getting out of the tiny, ratty bed, throwing on some worn but surprisingly well-maintained clothes and trudging over to the trapdoor. He released the door, and the ladder down from the attic slid out, as always getting stuck about three quarters of the way through the mechanism. He jostled it down, before descending to the upper landing and continuing on downstairs to the kitchen, cursing himself all the while for oversleeping. He guessed it was the dream that had done it. He had been having dreams like it for a long time now, but this was the first time one had caused him to sleep through his alarm.

Yes, the dreams were never identical, but they were always along the same lines. Whether he was trapped at the bottom of a well, in a prison cell, an animal cage, marooned on an island, whatever, one thing was certain: he was always alone. He had never done psychology, but didn't feel that he needed to in order to deduce that he felt somewhat isolated. It really wasn't all that surprising.

In the kitchen he filled the coffee machine and got it going and put two fresh croissants in the oven on a low heat to warm, all without really opening his eyes. He was brought back to the present uncomfortably when a hand struck the side of his head. It had a lot of momentum behind it, so that even though the person it belonged to was much smaller than him, it still sent him reeling since he wasn't prepared for it. His head hit the corner of a cupboard hard, and he tried to steady himself since he was mildly dazed, noting as he did so that the heavy ring that adorned the slapping-hand had actually cut his cheek. It figured: he was going to look like a battleground corpse by the time he got to school.

"What time do you call this?"

Troy looked blearily at his step-mother, Porsche Gold. She was a small, delicate woman with wispy, white blonde hair and an air of very deliberate fragility. And Troy hated her. Hated her from the carefully made up eyelashes to the ultra-fashionable shoes on her pampered feet.

"I call it a reasonable time to get up," he mumbled, knowing he'd regret it. He glanced at the digital clock on the microwave: it was 7 a.m. As he had said, a reasonable time to get up on a school day. Just not if you were expected to make and serve breakfast to your family and finish the homework you just couldn't do the night before.

She stormed over to him and grabbed his chin, her needle-thin fingers digging into his face. "Don't give me that. You're supposed to be up at 5.30 to get your chores done before school. Now you'll have to do them afterwards." She jerked her hand away, cruelly twisting his neck as she moved past him.

Troy felt despair grab hold of him. "I'll have homework later," he attempted half-heartedly, before she span on him, her pale blue eyes burning with fury.

"You should have thought of that before you decided that perfect little Troy needs his beauty sleep," she hissed, jabbing him in the chest. "Now, get out of here. And try and learn something today, you stupid little freak."

Troy grabbed his bag and was out of the door within a minute, trudging down the road, his face stinging and his head throbbing. It was absurdly early, but then, he had to walk to school and it was a good hour away. And to think, this was only Tuesday. Unbidden, a projection of the rest of the week flashed into his mind: after school he would walk home, have just about enough time to do his chores before crawling into bed. His homework would remain unfinished, and that was after he was punished for not having it for today. He would be behind on everything all week, just because of a stupid dream that he didn't even want to have.

His stomach gave a very audible growl; he wished he had had time to grab something before leaving the house, especially since he had no money for lunch today. He might have asked someone for a little of their lunch to tide him over, but he was running out of goodwill. He knew his friends were tired of him being the lazy, sponging git everyone knew him to be, and he really couldn't afford to lose any friends.

He trudged onwards, hands in pockets and face pointed directly at the pavement. He hated his life.

A car approached from behind him: an all too familiar, large black coupé. It screeched past him, showering him with dust and dirt, making him choke. Looking up, he just saw the face of his step-sister Tiara, another reason why he hated his life, laughing as she drove away. He coughed a bit more, and continued on his way, appearing like a man walking to the gallows.

***

Gabriella looked around the room, as yet unnoticed by the current occupants. It was a classroom. That was about all she could say about it. She had seen a lot, more than most, and was unhappily resigned to the fact that she'd probably see a lot more before graduation. This one didn't seem too bad: there were no actual arguments going on, let alone fist-fights, so that was already an improvement on some she had experienced. In fact, it was reassuring. The students were sitting in their seats, but most were turned to face others, talking and laughing, sharing the events of the after-school hours with their friends. She had been to a couple of schools where everyone had sat straight and silent at their desks, eyes facing resolutely forward, even before the teacher was in the room. That had been creepy. This, though, was more like a real high school.

She surveyed the students more closely from her vantage point by the door. A few stood out: a black girl in a sharp suit was smiling encouragingly at her. A blonde girl wearing entirely too much pink and enough sequins to sink the Lusitania was whispering with an equally blonde young man next to her, whose clothes were more restrained but still very stylish. She noticed that the way the two acted together was completely platonic, leading her to believe that they were either just good friends, or else brother and sister.

A tall, cheerful-looking guy with hair that could only be described as big sat on the front row, his hand resting on a basketball while his attention was focused elsewhere. He was laughing with a small, bespectacled girl sitting just behind him, who was smiling and shaking her head at his antics. Everything seemed entirely normal.

She felt a waft of air buffet her gently as someone walked past her briskly and without looking. The disturbed air brought with it a trace of unusual and not entirely pleasant perfume, causing Gabriella's face to twitch. She turned to see a woman who was obviously the homeroom teacher now sitting on a throne-like chair at the front of the class, raised on a small dais. In fact, Gabriella realised she must be the drama teacher, judging from the artfully arranged old theatrical props that surrounded the chair, and the manner of the woman herself, when she spoke.

"Good morning, everyone, I trust you all had a good weekend, and are now ready to continue with expanding your minds, experiences and horizons." Gabriella nearly laughed out loud when she noticed a couple of students actually mouthing the words along with the overly-dramatic tones; clearly Ms Darbus used the same speech every Monday morning. Finally the teacher noticed one student not in a seat. "And you are?"

Gabriella fixed her 'ingratiating self with new and unknown teacher' smile on her face and walked over, the documents principle Matsui had given her outstretched. "My name's Gabriella Montez, Ms Darbus. I'm new."

Ms Darbus' expressive eyebrows rose over the frames of her horn-rimmed glasses. "Well, welcome to East High, Miss Montez. There's a seat over at the back."

Gabriella made her way over to the indicated spot and settled herself while Ms Darbus began telling the class about the upcoming school events. She looked around. On her left was a fairly non-descript guy she labelled mentally as the friendly sub-jock: on a sports team, which probably meant basketball at this school, but not as stuck up as some, and his open, cheerful face bespoke a friendly and non-prejudiced demeanour: this guy was everyone's friend, and she would probably enjoy getting to know him. She looked over to the other side.

She blinked, because for the first time her internal programming was drawing a blank. Too many conflicting messages. Normally she could look at someone, maybe hear them speak a bit, and be able to assess them pretty accurately. This guy, though...

He was handsome, she had to admit. Despite being her age, so probably in his junior year, there was a boyish, innocent quality about him, with his completely smooth face and, when he turned his face away from the window for a moment, his dazzlingly blue eyes. His hair was fair, a sandy brown, and fell over his ears and eyes in a somewhat appealing fashion. On the other hand, he dressed like a bum. His jeans were old, faded and torn, his t-shirt rumpled and the colour washed out like a really old photograph. His sneakers were falling apart, apparently purely from hard use. And, when she looked closely, she could see deep, dark bags under his eyes and what looked like blood drying in his hair. The overall impression she got was one of defeat. He was going through stuff, and had pretty much given up on everything. She quickly looked away, aware that she probably ought to at least pretend to pay attention, but found her eyes kept slipping back to him. He was an enigma, and she had never been able to resist a puzzle.

Before she could think further, the bell had gone, signalling the end of homeroom. Gabriella hastily returned to her unusually pristine notebook to her bag, and on looking up found the Afro-Caribbean girl from earlier smiling down at her. "Hi, my name's Taylor McKessie."

"Gabriella, Gabriella Montez. Nice to meet you, Taylor." She attempted to shake Taylor's hand, but was getting tied up in her bag, which wasn't completely closed and was over-full. Taylor laughed, steadying the bag with one hand and shaking the proffered hand with the other.

"Nice to meet you too. I was wondering if you wanted any help finding your next class."

"Sure, thanks! My schedule's here somewhere…" she eventually located the relevant sheet of paper and handed it to her. While Taylor examined it, Gabriella's eyes flicked towards where the boy had been, but he had gone, obviously leaving quietly and without her noticing. She wondered what class he had now.

"Well, your next class is… AP Maths? Cool, I'm in that with you! Let's get going. You must be really bright, huh?

Gabriella blushed, following Taylor out of the classroom and sticking close to her in the crowded hallway. "I guess…"

Taylor smiled at her. "Don't worry, this is a great school. No one gets on our backs for being clever. We don't really have a bullying problem, at least as far as I know. I mean, look at me: I'm president of the Chemistry Club. At any other school I'd be a complete outcast. Here, I'm dating the captain of the basketball team."

Gabriella's eyes went wide with surprise. This she hadn't come across before. "Really? That's unexpected, but good for you. Is he nice?"

Taylor's flashy smile got a little softer, and her eyes acquired a soft focus that Gabriella was all too familiar with. She didn't need to hear the other girl say it, she guessed before hand.

"He's great. I mean, sure, he has his faults. He's impulsive, and a little obsessive when it comes to sports, and doesn't care as much about school as I might like, but he's a good guy. He cares so much about me. He could be-"

"The one," Gabriella finished for her, a melancholy sigh escaping. Taylor looked at her oddly. It wasn't that Gabriella was resentful of her relationship. It was more like she was… wistful? There was obviously more to this girl than met the eye.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own High School Musical, any of the characters, or any of their songs. I'm not even entirely certain about this storyline...

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Chapter Two: The Matchmaker

"_Troy!?"_

Troy actually shuddered, his eyes closed and his body appearing to be trying to squeeze itself into his locker. _Please don't see me please don't see me please don't see me please..._

"Troy!" A sharp finger nail flicked his ear and he flinched before sighing. He didn't know why he bothered trying to avoid Tiara; she made such a concerted effort to find him.

"Hi, Tiara." He was the very picture of reluctance turning round, leaning away from the small blonde in front of him, almost recoiling. She kicked his shin, her pointed toe probably leaving a bruise.

"I just wanted to remind you that I need you to look after Candi tonight."

Troy's eyes grew wide with horror. "Tiara, I can't! I have chores at home, and I have so much homework, I just can't! Why can't you do it, she's your horse."

Tiara shoved her finger into his chest, in a manner scarily reminiscent of her mother. "Because, I have important things to do tonight. My friends and I have a project to prepare for, so we're going over to Leanne's house for a sleepover study session."

Troy didn't believe it. Oh, the sleepover bit might be true, but he doubted they'd get much studying done, and of course it could all be a ruse to cover for Tiara going clubbing again. He felt that he had to try and make another stand.

"Tiara, I'm sorry, but I just can't look after Candi tonight."

Tiara put on an obviously fake sad expression before leaning right up close to him (both his shoulder blades were now actually in the locker) and whispering, "What makes you think you have a choice?"

Her knee came up with a viciousness that people wouldn't believe sweet, innocent Tiara Gold of being capable of. Troy's eyes opened wide, watering in pain, and he tried to double over but couldn't due to Tiara pushing him further back into the locker. He couldn't breathe over that pain that all men fear, but it wasn't over. Tiara's knee was still raised, grinding hard into him, and he had no doubt at all that, on a whim, Tiara could make him regret being born male. If he didn't already.

"You're pathetic, Bolton," she hissed in his ear. "You are such a loser. You're worthless. If I had my way, I wouldn't subject my horse to having you take care of her, but my hands are tied. You're all I've got. Be thankful you at least have a purpose in keeping me and my mother happy. If you didn't have that, you might as well just end your sorry excuse for a life."

With one final jerk of her knee, she span around and was gone, leaving Troy curling into a foetal position, only too aware of the whispering and laughing going on around him.

The thing was, he could have stopped her. He knew that. He wouldn't have any problem keeping both Porsche and Tiara off his back, if he had a mind to. Sure, he had lost quite a lot of weight since his dad's accident, and wasn't as strong as he once was, but he still could have fended off two slightly built blondes, however wide their mean streaks.

But, they were girls. Troy's expression as he recovered from his prone position and made his way, limping, to his next class was one of sullen, outraged resignation. Yes, he could have fought them off, yes, he was could have beaten both of them senseless, but all of them knew he wouldn't. You didn't hit girls, not even when they were abusing you badly, and you didn't let anyone think you were mistreating a girl. It was the code, the code of honour his dad and instilled into him as a kid, when he would hear the legends of the court at Camelot or the deeds of the heroes of Middle Earth as his bed-time stories. You did not, ever, under any circumstances, harm a woman.

_My trouble_, Troy fumed to himself as he dropped into his back row seat in History, _is that I'm too fu- bloody nice._

***

Gabriella's eyes flickered around the group that Taylor had brought her over to, her finely tuned instincts making notes and comparisons without her even being aware of them. So... Taylor, Martha, Tiffany, Chels and Lizzy. All smart and also pretty. Taylor was brimful of confidence, it was certainly the most obvious thing about her, and Gabriella noted that she seemed to have had some sharp corners rounded off by her relationship with Chad, the guy with the big hair and the basketball. So, Tay=(SP)+C-A. There. Taylor. Sorted.

In Gabriella's experience, SP was a bad combination. Smart multiplied by pretty. That was because it usually =A, arrogance, often with side orders of So (self-obsession). In this case, though, while the +C (confidence) might be dangerous, the –A made all the difference. Also, Gabriella concluded, the dynamics in this group were intricate. Taylor's equation might still be open to =So, except for the fact that Lizzy (Liz=(SP)-C+M where M=modest) =H, humility, which was propagated around the group. Lizzy was in turn buoyed up (and with her lack of C, confidence, it was needed,) by Chels, Che=(SP)+E+Sd (where E= encouragement-of-everyone-else and Sd= Self-deprecation), and Martha (M=(SP)+F, F= funny) stopped the whole lot of them from becoming too serious and miserable. Tiffany rounded the lot of them out, as Tif=(SP)+Sh+Q+In (shy, quiet and insightful).

Equally, it was easy to see why Chad and Taylor were so perfect together. It had taken mere seconds for Gabriella to solve his equation: Cha=Csquared+K+Imp. Csquared was dangerous, she knew, and all too common among jocks, but Taylor's –A spilled over onto her boyfriend, allowing his K (kind) to show through more. Just as importantly, It was Chad's +Imp (Impulsive) that contributed to Taylor not equalling either Superior or Boring, while her natural S tempered the more extreme expressions of Chad's impulsiveness. Gabriella concluded that Tay((SP)+C-A)+Cha(Csquared+K+Imp)=2C-A+K. With their confidence combined with the fact that they were naturally nice people, it was no wonder they were regarded as the premier couple in the school. Gabriella deduced, though, that Taylor might be tempted into taking Chad for granted, not realising just how much he did for her. She resolved to reinforce this fact, because apart they had the potential to be quite unpleasant people. Together, everyone was happy: mostly, Tay+Cha= a good thing.

This was what no one could understand about her, on those rare occasions when she tried to explain it to someone. People weren't too hard to understand, not really, you just needed to lay it out logically, and consider all the variables.

Her eyes continued to sweep the room while listening vaguely to the high-IQ version of what everyone else was doing: chatting. Up on the balcony area, on the way up to the higher floors, she could see the blonde boy and girl from her homeroom class again, apparently deep in conversation. She was veering more and more towards the idea that they were siblings, and therefore wondered just why they seemed to want to spend every available moment together.

Her face continued to turn, taking in the jocks, the geeks (distinguished from Taylor's group by the fact that the girls she was sitting with weren't playing Dungeons and Dragons in their lunch hour), the skaters, the arty crowd (arty=pretentious, Gabriella had no need to remind herself), the ones looking suspicious... even the ones just sitting and eating their lunches, without a definable group identity. And then, right in the corner, was the glitch.

She was staring, she knew, but she couldn't help it. He was such an enigma. He looked like he should be laughing with friends, or showing off sporting skills, not scribbling furiously in a pad, his expression flustered, anxious and angry, all layered on top of his usual, almost default feelings.

? = Sad + Lonely +... Betrayed?

That was interesting. She didn't often see Betrayed, and she had to admit that that must be a good thing. She wondered who had hurt him so much, while also realising that the equation was far from complete. Quite apart from not knowing his name, she was aware that a person wasn't just made up of their feelings, but their qualities too, and she had no idea what his were. That was unusual. She was so good at that normally...

She decided to take a chance. "Hey, Taylor," she struggled to keep her voice neutral as she interrupted the general chatter. "Who's that guy in the corner?"

Taylor looked where the new girl had indicated, and her expression darkened. Gabriella was shocked: she didn't think that anything could spoil Taylor's mood. "I wish I knew," the dark-skinned girl muttered, averting her eyes.

Martha cleared her throat. "Er, that's Troy Bolton. Just... don't ask, okay? Bit of a touchy subject."

_Way to quash my curiosity,_ Gabriella couldn't help thinking. This guy, who looked like the world was using him as its own personal stress-reliever, had apparently done something to make even the eternally cheerful Martha sober. Her eyebrows knitted. She was going to get to the bottom of this, even if no one wanted to talk to her about it. There was always someone in the know, and Gabriella's strength lay in knowing, always, who that one person was. She always knew where to apply the leverage.

***

Troy leaned back, mopping his brow and grimacing as his back complained even louder about the new position he was pressing it into. Candi looked at him, and Troy liked to imagine that he saw a look of sympathy and commiseration on the horse's long, brown face. He put the grooming brush down, and gave Candi a friendly pat on the side.

Of course, the horse's name wasn't really Candi, and Troy hated the indignity the lovely, patient mare was suffering in the name. Originally, the horse had belonged to his mother, before she died of cancer when he was quite young. Back then, Candi had been called Selene. His mother had told him that it meant 'moon goddess', or something. He had never understood why the name fitted so well, since there wasn't anything very moon-like about this particular horse, but it fitted somehow.

Troy packed up the cleaning gear, and led the quiet horse back into his father's... no, _Porche's _stables. Selene had been one of the many things given to Tiara when she became part of the family. That might have been seen as fair enough, but changing the name... that was tasteless.

Troy's life had started going wrong when his father had remarried. Porsche, he had known from the outset, was basically a gold digger, only interested in the sizeable Bolton fortune his Dad had inherited. It had always irked Porsche that Jack Bolton had felt the need to work, especially in a job as low-profile as a high-school gym instructor. Jack, though, had been besotted. He had never dated after Lucille, his first wife, had died, and had always believed that he never would. But Porsche Gold had insinuated herself into his life so readily, so perfectly, it was impossible for him not to fall in love.

Troy kicked the door. He should be heading home: he had a metric ass-load of chores to do. But then he saw Gawain, and his heart melted. His own horse, although officially Porsche had informed him that Gawain was no longer his responsibility, Troy felt yet more guilt wash over him when he thought of how he had neglected his old friend. The melancholy face twitched with excitement when Troy walked over and caressed the glossy black head.

"Sorry, boy. I know I haven't been around much lately. Things are kind of difficult."

"Want to talk about it?"

He sighed. "No, that's alright boy. You wouldn't-"

He stopped, and slowly turned. There was a girl leaning on the fence that ran round the paddock, not far from a shiny black jeep. He vaguely remembered that she was the new girl from class this morning.

"Er... hi. Um, look, I just got distracted and-"

She giggled merrily, and climbed over the fence. Troy saw she was quite petite, with tan skin and a decidedly Latina appearance, with her dark eyes and curly, not-quite-black hair lying in waves just past her shoulder. "That's okay, Troy, I won't tell anyone you expect your pets to talk back when you talk to them."

Troy grabbed onto Gawain's main, holding himself upright, and could feel blood rushing to his face. "Who- who are you? How do you know my name?"

The girl, who Troy, even in his somewhat agitated state, couldn't help but notice was absolutely gorgeous, laughed as she walked towards him. "Oh, I know everything, Troy Bolton. And as for who I am... I'm your friend."

Gabriella wasn't quite sure why she said that. But for the first time since seeing him, she thought she had worked out one answer to the equation that was the enigmatic boy in front of her. Troy, she realised, = someone who needs a friend.

Troy gave her a wary look. "My friend? No thanks. I had some of them, once. I don't want any more." He turned, made a practiced leap up onto Gawain's broad back, and trotted away from the girl. Friend? Right. Some new kid, set up to play a prank on him. This smelt like Chad's doing...

He got to the edge of the paddock, starting to really regret his fit of pique, since bareback riding was bad for the health of any male, especially a teenage one who had had a run in with Tiara earlier in the day, and wheeled round to go back to the stable.

To his amazement, he saw the girl trotting confidently towards him on Candi's... no, he corrected himself, on _Selene's_ back. She frowned at him.

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?" she snapped when she was close enough to him to speak. They slowed and came to a halt, the horses facing each other and whickering softly. "I just thought you could use someone to talk to, that's all."

Troy scoffed. "Nice try, but Chad Danforth needs to come up with something slightly more original before I make that big an ass of myself."

Her brow furrowed. "Taylor's boyfriend? What's he got to do with anything?"

Troy paused. Mostly because there was genuine puzzlement on the girl's face, and he had the feeling that he had just accused someone truly interested in him of being part of an immature prank, but partly because he had looked properly in her eyes for the first time. The anger that had been there had made her eyes glow, like there were tiny fires inside them, but the puzzlement made them seem bigger and darker, and he could literally feel himself falling into them.

"Look, sorry. I shouldn't have acted like that. It's just, I'm not really used to, well, people being nice." As soon as he said them, he wished he could take the words back. He sounded like some pseudo-depressed emo dick with a bad haircut and too much eyeliner, who would threaten to slit his own wrists just to get some attention. He wasn't really like that. However tempting it was, he'd always tried to stay away from self-pity. He knew it would just alienate people from him. Of course, that had happened anyway, but that didn't mean he could wallow in it now.

She cocked her head. "I did wonder." He wondered what she meant. Without speaking, she turned Selene and the both walked back to the stable. "Look, Troy," she said eventually, "I meant what I said. I just saw you in school and thought you looked like you could use someone to talk to. If I got it wrong, or if you don't want to talk, I won't bother you again. But, I'm around if you need me."

Troy was silent for a while. "Will you at least tell me your name?"

She smiled at him. "Gabriella. I just moved here; I'm in your homeroom."

He blushed, obviously embarrassed that she had caught him on not knowing who she was. "Well, it might be nice to talk to someone occasionally. But, at school might be a bad idea."

She frowned. "Why?"

He sighed, running a hand through the unruly mop of sweat-darkened hair. "Well, it sounds like you're friends with Taylor, and that probably means Martha and the others, and maybe even Chad. I'm not really flavour of the month with them, not that I blame them, and I don't want to make things awkward for you." He looked away, out over the paddock, while the horses' legs brushed through the long, dry grass. "They're great people, and I wish that we were still friends." He looked at her almost sharply. "You're lucky to have them, Gabriella."

She stared at him, a little taken aback, before clearing her throat. "Er, well then, when can I see you? Do you have a cell?"

Troy shook his head, embarrassed. It was unheard of for a kid his age not to have a phone, but it would be a cold day in hell before Porsche provided one. "Look, we can only really meet here. I'll give you a note in homeroom if I'm going to be working here after school, and you can come if you want, or can. That sound okay?"

He was blushing again, and Gabriella realised that he was shy. She grinned at him, swinging off Selene's back and giving her a hearty pat on the flank. "That sounds fine. I have to go now, but I'll see you around, Troy."

Troy watched her vault the fence, climb into the jeep and pull away, before shaking himself, settling the horses and starting the long walk home. He had a long night ahead of him but, somehow, he was feeling just a little more cheerful about it.

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Hope you like it. And, reviews might not make a difference to how quickly I update, but they do tickle my ego ;)

Tom (ZZ9)


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